


Day of the Dead

by valis2



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Horror, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-02
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valis2/pseuds/valis2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone on the boat, Nick watches as the ghosts emerge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> There are some characters from Lay Your Hands On Me, but you needn't have read that to get the gist here, I think.

* * *

Evening is falling, darkness pressing upon the houses, the boats silent in the harbor, lights turning on in windows, breeze winding through windows. Alone on the _Riptide_ , Nick stares out the window into the gloom. The last of the sun's blush is still visible on the horizon.

A long day. He's missing Cody, feeling adrift without him.

Far off in the distance, the light of a plane winks at him. He thinks about making coffee. About heading to Straightaway's. Watching the news. He does none of those things; instead, he watches as the night deepens.

It's the smell of smoke that tips Nick off. Not the crisp heady scent of leaves burning from his Chicago youth, but the stale smell of a cigarette, nearly two decades old.

He looks in the lockers, in the staterooms, the galley. Searches the wheelhouse in vain.

Coming back in the salon he stops, frozen in place. Steely sits on the bench seat. Real as real can be. The ash on his cigarette grown long, he looks for an ashtray.

Laughter behind him. He turns and sees Lenny punch Steve in the shoulder. The air grows heavy and thick. Cloying. Nick swallows heavily.

Steve sits down, pulls out a deck of cards, blood trickling down his arm, spilling on the salon table. He casually wipes off the ace of spades and puts it faceup in the middle of the table, giving Nick a sardonic grin.

Lenny is...well, he's Lenny, and he's wearing a necklace of ears and he's got a bottle of Glenlivet. He takes a swig and passes it around, first Steve and then Steely and then--

Nick has to grab the back of the bench seat because he legs turn weak. Bobby Henson, a love, a love from a different life. He can't pull enough air in his lungs to make a word, to shout, to scream. Bobby's eyes are brown and warm and kind, just as he remembers. Bobby drinks deeply and hands the bottle back to Lenny.

Lenny offers the bottle to Nick, arm outstretched. Numbly, he takes it in hand. "Drink up," says Lenny. His eyes seem dark and opaque. "You're one of us, right?"

The bottle is frightfully cold in his hands, heavy. The scotch is the wrong color, reddish and swirling with dark flecks.

"C'mon, Ryder." Lenny smirks. "Scared?" He pantomimes fainting, and they all laugh. Steve pulls out his k-bar and sticks it into the table forcefully, the knife vibrating for a moment.

His tongue seems to have swelled. He can't speak, just stares at the bottle, while the guys all snicker.

"He's one of us already," says Bobby, suddenly next to him. The skull is visible beneath the skin. Nick tries not to notice that one arm is missing and his legs move unnaturally. "Born in blood and napalm, held in the bosom of the green, baptized by a bullet."

"Baptized by a bullet!" crows Lenny. "That's great, man." He steals Steely's cigarette, takes a deep drag. Smoke curls out of his ruined neck. "Listen, Ryder, it's a dumbass move to put it off."

"It's coming for you." Steve looks at him gravely. "It came for us, remember? And you're one of us."

The boat grows darker and darker. The jungle is sprouting around them, writhing and coiling, leaves and moss and leeches wriggling. The air thickens, cloying, rotting, and Bobby's cold hand is on his arm. What's left of his hand. There's no way to get out now; vines are criss-crossed everywhere, green and black, hissing. Nick looks down at the bottle again. It's heavier and darker and smells like suffering.

"You gonna stand there all day?" says Lenny. "Stop fuckin' around and _drink_ already. Jesus." He pulls the k-bar from the table, checks the edge with his thumb.

"He's got time," says Bobby. There's a flicker of envy in his eyes.

Steely looks angry. "How the fuck is that _fair_? Ryder gets out, but we don't?"

"Who said Ryder got out?" asks Steve. "I think he's halfway back. Halfway home, with us."

"Do it, Ryder. You're one of the company. One of us." Lenny's voice is as keen as the knife, jangling like a broken harpstring.

Nick raises the bottle to his lips. The edge is sharp. He takes a drink, a spare mouthful, and the flavor is indescribable, like chalk dust and ground bone and licorice. He falls to his knees, clutching his stomach. Spots appear before his eyes. Bobby's let go of his arm, but he can still feel the touch, ice-cold, traveling up his arm to his shoulder.

"That's it," says Steve encouragingly. "We're all together again, on this night. Here with you. The jungle."

"Let's do it," says Lenny, a crazy look in his eyes. "Let's drink to the jungle."

"Fuck you, man," says Steely. "That fucking bastard killed us all. No way am I drinking to it."

"Gotta respect it." Lenny's tone turns dangerous. "It was the best of all of us. The strongest."

Nick opens his eyes. The knifeblade gleams. It's so dark he can barely see. The jungle is growing stronger and stronger, closing in around them, suffocating, green, harsh, wet. He's getting colder and colder, Bobby's touch now reaching through his torso, crawling down his other arm. He's shaking like a leaf, he's a block of ice within the heat, he's so cold he can see his breath in the hot, humid air.

Lenny grabs the bottle from him. "To the motherfuckin' jungle!" He downs the rest of the liquid, chugging it.

"You're such an asshole, Lenny," says Steely, disgusted. "The jungle's gonna fuck you up for this. That was Ryder's drink, not yours."

Nick can feel the green, the horrible green, it's snaking around his ankles and pinning him to the ground. The jungle is everywhere, now, engulfing Steve in tendrils. Vines burst out of Lenny's stomach, a mess of bloody green, immediately wrapping around his torso, hideous purple flowers blooming in his ribcage. "You're one of us," he says, just before pale white roots shoot out of his mouth.

The jungle is crushing Nick. His hands, his fingers, vines are wrapped around his throat, everything so hot it burns to touch it, and yet he's so cold, it's in his feet now, his head, he's completely immobilized but the heat can't touch him, he's frozen to the core. Bobby says something about love, and then the jungle starts screaming, a horrible noise of decay and blood, vibrating in his skull like a jackhammer. He opens his mouth to scream but he can't--

"Nick? I'm back...hey, I brought you some sugar skulls." There's a long pause. "Nick? Nick!"

Nick opens his eyes to see Cody, kneeling down in front of him, looking terrified, hands on his shoulders.

The jungle is gone. Lenny's gone, and Steely, and Steve, and with a pang, he realizes that Bobby's gone, too. They're all gone. He blinks, overcome with emotion.

Cody pulls him close. "Nick, you're as cold as ice!" He takes his hands into his own, rubs them briskly. "Are you okay?"

Nick inhales deeply, the clean scent of the ocean chasing out the rotting smell of the jungle. The salon is empty, ablaze with light. There's no blood on the table, no mark from a k-bar, no vines. No green. No jungle, shiny and thick. "Think so." He's still shivering, and Cody just holds him, rubbing his hands. The salon fills with a warm glow now, the beautiful, golden glow of Cody, his living warmth banishing the ghosts from the _Riptide_.

"Here, get up." Cody pulls him to his feet and looks him over, gazing deep into his eyes, and Nick stands there, a little unsteady. "I think it's time for bed," he says knowingly.

It's way too early for bed, but Nick nods, grateful, and follows Cody down to their room. Stripping off his clothes, Nick gets under the covers, still feeling the cold. His arm aches from it. Cody gets in, wraps himself around Nick, and they're skin to skin now, the heat of his body thawing the cold. Nick melts into his arms, listens to his heart beating, strong and true.

He's almost asleep, eyes sliding shut, Cody's breathing steady and sure against him, when he catches the stray scent of cigarette smoke before it vanishes completely.


End file.
